


Battery Acid

by Nymm_at_Night



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst and Porn, Awkward Dates, Established Relationship, Established poly, F/M, Femdom, Illustrated, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Other, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Starvation, Pegging, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, The Healing Power Of BDSM, The SQUIP and Jeremy are two brain-roommates that hate each other, The SQUIP gets sexiled, The tags on this are a trip i know, Threesome - F/M/M, dubcon?, it's vague, meremine - Freeform, thigh riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 13:39:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13952745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nymm_at_Night/pseuds/Nymm_at_Night
Summary: Jeremy has a bad day, Christine and Michael enjoy the concept of interior decorating, and the SQUIP fourthwheels on a perfectly good date and by fourthwheeling I mean like a truck. Crashing through a house.(The house is Jeremy's brain.)





	Battery Acid

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Meg, Eliza, Bird and everyone else who suffered through this concept. I'm sorry about all the dongs.

The package looks creepy. There’s something off about the glassy eyes and contorted waist, curves run through a rigorous gamit of photoshop and filters until the girl fondling a prepackaged dildo is more a crude approximation of life than than an actual, attractive human being.

Jeremy frowns at it, the familiar cocktail of revulsion and arousal coiling in his chest like some sort of awful reflex. He pushes the box onto the shelf, to sit with the other identical packages, and reaches for the next one. Customers mill around the Spencers like visitors to some perverse zoo, oblivious to the plight of its captives.

**_“Not oblivious, just smart enough not to laugh out loud.”_ **

Jeremy’s frown turns to a scowl, and he shoves the next package onto the shelf hard enough to make the metal wobble.  _ “Fuck off.” _

He doesn’t even need to turn to know it’s there. He can feel it behind him, an electric hum buzzing through his teeth.

It’s better if he ignores it. If he argues, then it gets nasty and starts to really dig deep- usually by mocking his therapist or his mom or seeing his therapist about his mom, sometimes with faint notes of “You’re a monster” and “The only reasons anyone stays are for a laugh or out of pity” if it’s feeling creative. Sometimes it tries to scold him like a dog that’s misbehaving.

Then again, it’s not like it doesn’t say those things if he ignores it. If anything, it gets more vitriolic.

Case in point:

**_“I’m dis-dis-dis”_ ** Jeremy lets himself smile as he moves on to restocking the dick-shaped salt shakers in the display. Its core functions have slowly eroded from repeated doses of Mountain Dew Red, and Jeremy feels almost guilty at the vindictive joy he feels seeing its coding unravel. Something awful in him likes to watch it break down.  **_“Disgusted you’d show up to work like this.”_ **

Jeremy swallows and tries to focus on the crass music playing over the speakers, but the SQUIP’s always been the loudest thing in his head, reverberating from his temples through his cortex and down his spine.  **_“It’s honestly a miracle that no one thinks you’re a leper with that mess on your face. Your pores are like craters, and honestly I think I could see myself in your skin. You’re practically glistening with sweat and oil. Filthy.”_ **

Jeremy sets the salt shaker down and paws at his face on reflex- he’d sworn he’d put on enough concealer this morning- then freezes, feeling guilty. He’s supposed to be ignoring it, but the old worries still well up like blood from a cut.

**_“Relax. It’s not like it can get much worse,”_ ** The SQUIP says, faux comforting. **_“Honestly, I have no idea how they can put up with you. I can’t believe they willingly hitched themselves to you. And they had a choice in it!”_ **

“Shut up, for fuck’s sake.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees it pixelate then flicker back to HD resolution, grinning.  **_“Or you’ll what, exactly?”_ **

Jeremy grabs the next salt shaker and slams it down onto the shelf. “I’ll drink enough Mountain Dew that you’ll turn into a Zune. No, a fucking Magnavox.”

**_“Someone’s been rubbing off on you,”_ ** It sneers with the contempt it only ever reserves for Michael. Jeremy feels the tips of his ears heat up. “ **_American technology. At least being inferior hardware means I won’t have the RAM to compute how terrible you are. It’d be a mercy kill.”_ **

“I could do it,” Jeremy hisses, grabbing another figurine from the cardboard box. “One call.”

**_“We both know you wouldn’t call Michael just because you can’t handle the truth. Even you’re smart enough to know he’s sick of this.”_ ** It makes an expansive gesture at Jeremy, who scowls.  **_“I knew he was an idiot from the start, but I thought Christine would be better, given how you hyped the retar-”_ **

The saltshaker sails through its head and shatters against the metal shelving of the tee shirt display, sending shards of cheap porcelain skittering across the floor. The SQUIP looks at fragments for a moment, its head glitching sporadically, then smiles at Jeremy.  **_“Oh look, Jeremy's throwing a tantrum. Better get an adult.”_ **

Jeremy swallows the anger as the SQUIP flickers away, replaced by a dull ache in his chest. People are staring. It feels like every eye is on him as he shakily stands up to pick up the pieces of the salt shaker. The air feels dead silent despite the bump and grind of music trickling out of the speakers.

Someone brushes against his shoulder and he nearly jumps out of his skin.

It’s his manager, holding a broom and dustpan encrusted with weed stickers. “What happened?”

Jeremy breathes in and out, and when he looks up, there’s a smile on his face, crisp and cool and perfect. “It slipped, sorry.”

The lie slides off his tongue easily, and Jeremy’s skin crawls at the SQUIP’s hum of approval. His manager’s eyebrows inch towards his hairline, but Jeremy smiles placidly and takes the broom and dustpan, sweeping away the dirt and porcelain.

It takes ten seconds for the customers to stop staring at the man cleaning the floor, and thirty for the usual sounds of the store to pick back up. Jeremy sighs, relieved, and slips back into the background.

Two hours later, and Jeremy’s sitting outside of the Menlo Park Mall, trying to ignore the smell of smoke on the woman sitting next to him as he watches the clouds roll in from the east. The back half of his shift had passed in the same monotonous crawl as the first, but there had been something sickly and metallic in the air.

Jeremy frowns and turns his eyes away from the storm. The parking lot’s filled with the same milquetoast sedans and SUVs as ever, and Jeremy longs to see Michael’s PT Cruiser roll around the block and save him from suburban hell. 

His phone died ten minutes ago in the middle of a fervent Pokemon Go session, and Jeremy’s left to sit and fiddle with the case. The parking lot doesn’t really have much to look at. There’s the grey sky above, the muddy, grey cars in the lot, the smoking woman, and the SQUIP, as always. It’s leaning on the back of the bench, arm sprawled across the top of it and brushing against Jeremy’s neck.

He grimaces and leans away so it’s not touching him anymore. It’s not like it doesn’t talk to him normally, but it’s more unusual for it to expend the effort to stay visible just to hang out. Usually it goes days or weeks without making any real appearance, but today it’s been unusually active.

It’s probably because it’s date night. Saturdays always mean a date with either Michael or Christine, or when they’re lucky, both. Part of Jeremy wishes they could do stuff a little more spontaneously, but the scheduling is good for his anxiety, Christine’s love of routine, and unfortunately, the SQUIP’s love of being a total pain in the ass.

His mouth tastes a little like pennies, and Jeremy knows he’s given it some sort of fucked up validation through his suffering. He hates how well he can read it.

Jeree turns away from the cars and the static on his shoulder, glancing at the woman next to him on the bench. She’s shaking another cigarette out of her box. “You want one?”

“No, sorry. I don’t smoke,” He says, watching her pinch it between her two fingers like a flapper. He can see the resemblance. She’s got the pixie cut and the neckline of her spaghetti strap top dips down her cleavage like the women he’s seen in movies. He can see her bra strap, black against pale skin.

**_“You never fail to impress. A boyfriend and a girlfriend, and you're still horny enough to eye up strangers. Just being near you makes me feel like taking an acid shower.”_ **

Jeremy swallows tightly and looks away. He shouldn’t be this high strung. He’s supposed to be better than this. Sure, last week had been too hectic for sex, and the week before his dad had been home, but he should be able to deal with this. He did for seventeen years before, he should be able to do it now.

Then again, he’d been able to take care of himself then instead of making Michael and Christine deal with it.

Stupid fucking hormones. God, he’s sick.

A car horn blares and Jeremy jolts out of his own head. Michael’s PT Cruiser’s parked in front of him, Michael impatiently leaning on the horn.

Jeremy tries to casually amble over to the car, but ends up running instead. He slams the door shut, as if that’ll silence the thing in his head, and slumps into the seat. Michael’s car smells a little bit like chips and that one time they mistakenly hotboxed it, and there’s soft music playing from the speakers, bass cranked all the the way up.

It’s good. Safe. Too small for the SQUIP to show up without looking like an idiot. Its pride prevents it from even considering sitting in the backseat. “Hey dude.”

“Hey.” Michael smiles at him, eyes crinkling up behind his coke bottle glasses. Something in Jeremy’s chest warms. “How was work?”

Jeremy shimmies up a little in his seat, letting his legs stretch out after a long day on his feet. “Somebody brought a nine year old with her and I had to keep her at the front of the store.”

“Right next to all the weed paraphernalia?” Michael grins and pulls out of the parking lot and Jeremy breathes a sigh of relief. Nothing good has ever happened at the Menlo Park Mall. “Jeremy, how scandalous. You of all people encouraging drug use in today’s youth.”

Jeremy groans and rolls his eyes at the banged up ceiling of the car. “Michael, you’re a slut for drug paraphernalia.”

“Jeremiah Ariel Heere! How dare you accuse me of ever smoking a pot in my-”

“Hands on the wheel!”

Michael grumbles and puts his hands safely back on ten and two instead of waving them around for emphasis. “Okay, okay. But seriously Jeremy, how’s the kid ever gonna learn to just! Say! No!”

Jeremy snorts. “It was that or let her get near the back of the room with like, the… y’know.”

“And the bachelorette party supplies are somehow worse than the tee shirt with Sonic doing meth on it?”

“Yes! Exactly,” Jeremy asserts. “It’s weird and gross! I mean uh, Tails doing PCP is weird and gross too but it’s not… uh,” He frowns, looking for the right word. “Dirty.”

“Dude, it’s just a couple of dick shaped balloons, it’s not some great affront to good taste.” Michael wrinkles his nose, leaning forward a little to squint at the road. “I mean, it is, but not in a nasty way.”

Jeremy folds his arms and frowns out the window at downtown rolling by. It’s ridiculous how high strung he is, but it feels like Michael’s trying to jam two puzzle pieces that don’t fit together. Better to cut his losses. “How was your day?”

He sees Michael glance at him out of the corner of his eye, concerned, but Jeremy avoids the dreaded eye contact.

“Well, my mom’s been looking for custard apples, right? She’s got like a spreadsheet of all the stores she’s tried and nobody’s even heard of it, but she went to this little Asian place and guess what?”

“What?” Jeremy asks, resting his head against the window, and Michael launches into his mom’s haggling adventures. Usually he likes hearing Michael talk, but today he just feels lost in the words. He keeps getting distracted by Michael drumming on his thigh or licking his lips and then by the time he’s come back to himself, they’ve taken a leap from produce to a critique of a documentary on facial development in infants. The most participation he can manage is the occasional “Yeah” and “Uh-huh” when Michael pauses for a breath.

He feels like a shitty boyfriend, but honestly he just wants to curl up in bed alone and sleep until the uncomfortable, restless feeling fades. He presses his cheek against the glass, eyes unfocused on the scenery flicking past. The storm’s almost over them now, and Jeremy feels his eyelids sag to the drum of the drizzle on the car roof.

Michael snaps his fingers under his nose and Jeremy starts, scrambling to face him. Michael’s sheepish smile falls. “Sorry man. I didn’t mean to startle you. We’re uh. Here.”

Jeremy nods, sweeping a hand through his hair. It’s a mess from leaning against the window for so long, the condensation making it stick up on the side. “It’s fine.”

Michael takes the key out of the ignition and leans forward, squinting at him. “Are you feeling okay?”

Jeremy shrugs and Michael frowns, fiddling with the cord of his headphones. “Jeremy. Is it back?”

Static prickles the back of Jeremy’s neck and he tries to keep his eyes on Michael’s face instead of trying to find wherever it’s appeared. He should probably tell Michael everything, but he just can’t. He puts so much of what’s happened on his and Christine’s shoulders, and compared to everything else, being kind of horny is insignificant. Michael doesn’t want to hear him mope about his libido and Jeremy doesn’t want to be the sick pervert who can’t take care of himself. He wants to be the fun, happy boyfriend they deserve.

He sighs. “It’s been… chatty, but I’m fine. Really.”

Michael gives him a dubious look.

“Seriously dude, I can handle it,” Jeremy says, clicking off his seatbelt. “It’s just being a dick. Like always.”

Michael looks like he’s going to say more, but he just takes a deep breath and claps his hand on Jeremy’s shoulder, who shivers from the warm touch. “Time to sweep Christine off her feet?”

“Time to sweep Christine off her feet.”

They clamber out of the car, running to get out of the rain and up the concrete steps to Christine’s apartment building. It’s her week to pick, and Jeremy’s not going to let anything ruin it. He loves seeing her so happy. She’s got the greatest smile when she talks about stuff she loves.

Jeremy knocks three times on the door to Christine’s apartment and steps back to fiddle with his clothes, straightening his button down. Michael rubs out the creases in his hoodie and Jeremy feels a brief flash of envy. He doesn’t have to be the spick and span boyfriend, just the chill chaperone.

The door cracks open and Jeremy jumps to attention, suddenly aware of every out of place hair and wrinkle in his shirt.

“Jeremy! And Michael…?” Christine’s mother says, eyebrows inching towards her hairline. There’s no swarm of triplets swarming around her legs today, which is a relief. Jeremy loves Christine’s siblings, but today he doesn’t have it in him to be used as a jungle gym.

“Transport,” Michael says, answering the unasked question with a nod of his head. “I swear, they only love me for my gas mileage.”

Jeremy snorts and elbows Michael in the ribs. “Third wheeler. You just want to steal fries off our plates.”

Christine’s mother’s face softens, and she steps aside to let them in. “Christine, your boyfriend’s here!”

There’s a muffled shout from down the hall and Jeremy hears the familiar scramble of Christine pulling on five distinct articles of clothing at once.

The doorway to Christine’s room slams open hard enough to rattled the hinges, and suddenly she’s barreling towards him for a welcome hug. Jeremy yelps as she wraps her arms around his waist and hefts him up. “Chr- Christine!”

“Jeremy!”

“Michael!” Michael adds helpfully. “How’s it hanging?”

“Good! Great!” Christine shouts. Jeremy goes limp in her arms and just lets his feet dangle. She’ll put him down eventually. Probably. “How are you?”

“Absolutely gnarly,” Michael says, and shoots her double finger guns. Jeremy is set on the ground so that the holy gesture might be returned.

“Cmon, I wanna show you guys something!” Christine grabs their hands, and pulls Jeremy and Michael down the hall. Jeremy catches her mother’s look as Christine shuts her bedroom door behind them- mildly amused and unsuspecting. Perfect.

Christine quietly locks the door then pulls Michael down for a long kiss. Jeremy watches as she throws an arm around Michael’s neck for support and Michael’s hands settle on her waist, and Jeremy regrets dating such hot people. He’s pretty sure he’s red from the tips of his ears down to his collar.

Jeremy sits on Christine’s bed and pulls off his shoes, tucking them under the bed and watching the two of them. They’ve stopped kissing, something Jeremy feels guilty for being disappointed about, and are just hugging. Christine’s forehead is pressed against his chest and Michael’s got his arms around her, swaying slightly to the tinny music from his headphones.

Jeremy sighs, content. He doesn’t get to see them like this nearly as often as he’d like to. To everyone but their friends it's officially just him and Christine dating with Michael there to make sure they don't do anything unsavory behind locked doors. Given the awful things the three of them have done on Christine's poor bed, that assumption is Wrong.

Michael says it's okay, but Jeremy still hates that he and Christine can't kiss Michael in public, cuddle close and show the world just how happy he is to be  _ his, theirs _ , but it's probably for the best. High school is shit, but the three of them can deal with it until they're grown and living in an apartment together.

Things will be cool in college, Michael assures him. Jeremy’s still learning how to believe it.

Christine finally pulls away and sits on the bed with Jeremy, and Michael joins on the other side of him. The bed creaks ominously under their combined weight.

Michael snorts at the groaning springs and shimmies, making the bed squeal. “Alright. First thing we get for the apartment is a nice bed. I don’t care if I have to live on ramen for a year, we’re going upscale. King sized bed. No, California king size. That’d be swank as hell.”

Jeremy sighs. “Michael, at that point we could fit the rest of the squad onto the bed. Then just because we could, Rich and Jake would make us.”

“Jeremiah.”

Jeremy gives Michael an unamused look and Michael all but tackles him, dragging him onto the bed. Christine laughs and squirms out of the way of the impromptu wrestling match. 

“This is why- Jesus Christ-” Michael breaks off into muffled noises as Jeremy gets him into a head lock and claps his hand over his mouth. He elbows Jeremy so he has to grab his arm with his gagging hand. “We get a baby gate. We’ve discussed this!”

“Michael, just because Rich can’t reach the clasp doesn’t mean Jake can’t. I mean, what if they work together?” Christine says, watching Michael wriggle and shout obscenities in Jeremy’s hold. She strikes a pose with her hands out in claws. “Like Velociraptors.”

Jeremy laughs and Michael takes the opportunity to roll over, pinning Jeremy under him. The bed groans and Jeremy has one second to enjoy Michael’s triumphant grin and flushed face before the bed gives out under him with an almighty crack.

“What was that?”

Jeremy squeaks from under Michael at the sound of Christine’s mom through the door, and Michael clamps his hand over Jeremy’s mouth. Christine gives them a panicked look, but Jeremy’s too distracted by how close Michael is to really think.

“Christine? Are you okay?”

“Uh, we were organizing my books! Again! And they all fell! All of them!” Christine says, her voice going loud and flat like it always does when she gets nervous. “I wanted them alphabetized! Not by color!”

There’s a sigh from the other side of door. “Did you really bring your friends over to help with your Magic Tree House collection?”

“Mom!”

“Look, I’m just happy you have friends who appreciate your interests,” Christine’s mom says with the same sort of embarrassing parental affection Jeremy’s learned to expect from other people’s parents. “It means a lot to me to know that Christine has supportive friends-”

“Mom, please!” Christine yelps, turning pink. “We’re good!”

“Fine, fine. Just don’t miss your reservation.”

The entire room holds its breath as her footsteps recede down the hall, then breathes a sigh of relief.

“Are you okay?” Christine sticks out a hand to Michael and helps him off Jeremy, who gasps as his lungs reinflate, no longer crushed by his boyfriend. Jeremy winces and clambers off the bed, cringing as the mattress bows more and shakes under him.

“Yeah.” He wipes his hair out of his face, staring at the caved in carcass of Christine’s bed.

Christine does a sort of half slapping, half sweeping motion Jeremy thinks is supposed to get dirt off his back and she’s probably not patting his ass intentionally but it kind of feels like it and Jeremy’s face is heating up and he should really just focus on the issue at hand. “I’m really, really sorry about your bed, and uh, if you did invite us over to organise your Magic Tree House books, that’s cool too.”

“Maybe next week.” Christine kneels, gingerly lifts the edge of the mattress and frowns. “The slat broke again. Darn it.”

“Man,” Michael says. “I really didn’t think this was how I’d break your bed.”

Jeremy buries his face in his hands and Christine swats at Michael’s hip, trying to hide her laughter. “Help me take down the curtain rod so mom doesn’t kill me!”

“Isn’t she going to notice missing curtains?”

Christine blinks. “Shit.”

“I wouldn’t worry.” Michael shrugs, prodding at the mattress with his foot. “I mean, your mom doesn’t notice a lot of the shit we do. Like the hickies.”

Jeremy makes a choked noise. “I wear turtlenecks when I come over here!”

Michael grins. “Christine doesn’t.”

Christine bites her lip. “I wanna say she blames Jeremy but…” She frowns, squeezing her hands open and shut. “I don’t know. She never even asks about the hickies or anything.” Christine huffs and flops back on her armchair, listlessly kicking at a yarn ball. “Feelings suck.”

Michael runs his fingers through his gelled hair and sits on the arm of the chair, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “We could tell her, if you wanted. I’d be okay with it.”

Christine shakes her head, clenching and unclenching her hands more tightly. Jeremy can see the little white marks where her nails dig into the skin. “That’s not it! This is good. I like not having to deal with the questions. I just wish it was harder.”

She sighs. Jeremy offers her his hand and she takes it, squeezing his fingers. “I know she’s busy with my siblings, but I just…” 

Jeremy runs his thumb over her knuckles and tries to think of what his therapist would say. “That’s cool. I mean, it’s not cool that you feel like that but, it’s okay that you do.”

Michael raises an eyebrow and Jeremy shrugs helplessly. Christine lets out a long breath and slumps against Michael’s arm, staring at the popcorn ceiling. “It’s not that they’re bad parents. I don’t have bad parents.” Jeremy gets the feeling that sentiment is more for his benefit than hers, but quashes how the way she says it makes his heart twist. “I love mom, and I love dad and I just...”

“If meddling means they care about you, you want them to do it.”

Christine nods, and the three of them sit in silence for a long moment.

“If you need to- want to, we could tell them.” The thought of the stares and whispers and the rumors makes Jeremy feel like he’s just swallowed a tarantula and it’s scuttling around his gut, but he steals himself and makes himself look at her.

She slowly lets go of his slightly crushed fingers and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her gaze flits from him to Michael and she steals her jaw. “I like what we have now. I want to wait.”

Michael mouths something that looks like “Oh thank fuck,” and Jeremy gives him a discrete but pointed Look. Michael sighs and flops his head on the armchair. “I don’t give a shit if we’re out or not, but it’s going to be a pain.”

Jeremy nods sympathetically. “Rich says he’ll knife anyone who gives us shit.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “Rich will knife anyone, period. He’s like a chimpanzee with a machete.”

“Christ, that was one time! He was SQUIPed!”

“My point stands.”

Jeremy grimaces and turns back to Christine. “So what do you want us to do?”

Christine stands, brushing off her legs. “I think we’re going to fix my bed and go on an awesome date and I’m not going to care if my mom knows or not!”

Jeremy smiles and starts weighing their options. The curtain rod’s about two feet long and rests on two oversized hooks, holding up the gauzy curtains and the scarves Christine’s pinned and tied to them. He glances over Christine’s room. The Broadway posters aren’t going to be much help, and neither are the small mountain of half finished knitting, needles still stuck jauntily in balls of yarn. Christine’s been working on a long scarf with each section in different types of yarn. Jeremy’s pretty sure that you aren’t meant to do each stripe separately then sew them together, but she says that if she doesn’t change textures every so often she loses interest.

He shakes his head and opens the curtains, blinking at the dreary sky. The branches of the tree nearby scratch against the window pane, blown by the breeze.

Jeremy has an epiphany and unclasps the lock on the window. “Michael, can you pick me up?”

Michael raises an eyebrow but complies, wrapping his arms around Jeremy’s hips and hefting him up. Christine catches on and scrambles to open the window. 

“Are you kidding me?” Michael asks, voice muffled against Jeremy’s back.

Jeremy rests his hands on sill. “Do it.”

Michael shrugs and sticks Jeremy out the window. It doesn’t live up to expectations. The ledge of the window keeps jabbing him in the stomach and the branches are a lot further away than they looked from the room. Jeremy makes another grab at the branch, but the little twigs snap off in his hand when he tries to pull at it.

He grimaces. “Little further.”

Michael grunts and shifts his grip, and Jeremy claws at the branch, throwing his whole body into it. He finally gets his hands around it, stretching between the window and the bough. Jeremy is acutely aware of the payoff of regular push ups, and he sucks in a breath, trying to ignore the ache in his abs.

Jeremy wiggles the branch, but the wood doesn’t quite give. It bows before springing back up, and Jeremy grits his teeth and puts his whole body into, hears the creak of the wood and the snap as it breaks and whoosh in his ears as he over balances and swings down, no longer supported by the branch.

“Shit!” Michael jolts back and Jeremy feels himself slip for a moment, sees the ground inch a half a foot closer. He claws at the siding with his free hand, the other clinging to the stick.

“Guys!”

“Hold on!” Christine or someone grabs him by the back of his shirt and pulls, and he branch thwacks against the window as Jeremy’s pulled back into the room. It falls uselessly on the ground, shedding pine needles all over the carpet, and the three of them stare at it, panting. 

“That,” Christine gasps, “Was really dumb.”

“I love you dude, but jeez.”

**_“Once again, life snaps any happiness from my grasp.”_ **

Jeremy glares at it, the stupid thing sitting primly on the desk. “Fuck off.”

“I’m joking,” Michael says, crossing his arms. “Chill out man.”

It grins and Jeremy feels his heart sink. “Sorry dude. I uh-” Out of the corner of his eye, the SQUIP reclines on Christine’s art supplies. One of its hands keeps spasming backwards. “I’m just frustrated. I’m sorry.”

Michael sighs and pats his back. “It’s fine. You okay?”

Jeremy rubs his side, cringing, and picks up the branch. It feels solid enough. “It’s not the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.”

Christine hums and takes it from him. After a minute of finangling she manages to prop the bed back up. It looks pretty okay, even if there’s a weird place where the mattress bows in the middle.

“Well,” She announces, looking down on upon her her masterpiece. “Mom probably won’t notice the twigs sticking out.”

Michael shrugs. “Wanna get out of here before we have to explain this?”

“Absolutely.”

Jeremy looks at the room one more time before following his partners out- pine needles in the carpeting, curtains askew, bed rumpled and currently occupied by a grinning SQUIP- and shuts the door. If anything, this is cutting their losses.

Christine takes the shotgun seat this time, hitching the seat forward so Jeremy can have actual leg room. He winces when the seat crushes something that sounds like a bag of chips, but she doesn’t seem to care. Jeremy hooks in his seat belt as they pull out of the lot.

“So,” Michael says, glancing in the rear view mirror. “Are we going to Home Depot or on a date?”

Christine snorts. “It’s date night. We’re going on a date.”

“Hey, a date can be getting lost in a Home Depot and dying from insecticide inhalation.” Michael nods to himself, looking as pensive as the Buddha statue in Christine’s living room. “Love comes in many forms.”

“Love does not come in the form of bed fixing!”

Jeremy sighs and leans forward, smushing his cheek against the back of Christine’s seat. “I nearly fell out of a window to fix your bed.”

Michael woops and Christine flaps her hands in something between exasperation and humor. “That’s love but it’s not the same!”

“Yeah, well what if I made you a bed?” Michael asks. He’s still laughing a little bit, but there’s something softer in his voice. “Us, a bed, I mean.”

“You can make a bed?” 

Michael shrugs, slouching as he waits for the light to turn. “I can learn. I took shop sophomore year.”

“I know,” Jeremy says, watching the cars go by. “I was there. You were off getting high in the stairwell.”

“It was the handicapped stall!”

“Michael!” Christine punches his arm lightly and Michael shoves her back. “What if someone needed that stall?”

“Guys,” Jeremy says. “The light-”

A car horn blares from the car behind them and everyone jumps about a foot in the air. Michael hits the gas, suddenly the picture of the exact sort of teenaged driver who doesn’t get pulled over by the cops. 

“The light’s green,” Jeremy finishes lamely. “And shame on Michael’s irresponsible weed habits. See, this is why you had to cheat off me for the final.”

“Michael!” Christine is aghast. “How can I trust someone to build our set when they can’t even build a lawn chair?”

“I may have overdone the weed, but my lawn chair was fucking fantastic,” Michael grumbles, turning off onto a side street. Christine lives in a much nicer part of town than them, but that means more expensive. “Now I need to do tech and build you a bed. Fuck.”

Christine fist pumps. “Four poster! Can we get Christmas tree lights? And one of those mosquito net things?”

Jeremy briefly envisions a tiny grey pill with wings bumping into the net, whining as it falls to the ground. “Yes. Absolutely.”

Christine pauses, realization dawning on her features. “We could have curtains. Red velvet curtains!”

“No,” Michael and Jeremy say in unison.

Christine deflates. Jeremy scrambles to save the conversation. “Sorry! I like theater, but uh, I don’t to sleep there. We could do the lights though.”

There’s the smile again. “Oh my gosh, I have the perfect idea.”

She whips out her phone and taps at it like a pigeon with some seed, showing something to Michael at the light. “I can’t wait!”

She stomps her feet a little, and he laughs and the two of them go into one of their rambling discussions of interior design. Today it’s strategic use of book shelves. The last time it was high contrast paintjobs for the hypothetical living room.

Jeremy slowly pulls away from them, leaning into the corner between the back seat and the window. “It’s going to be great.”

Michael grins at him from the mirror and Jeremy does his best to return it. Living together sounds… it sounds amazing. He wants to wake up to them every morning, sit on the couch with Michael playing video games, eat dinner with Christine and talk about nothing and everything.

He only hopes they do too.

Dad and mom got married early. Then the love fizzled out and bad things happened and now they’re here and she’s gone. He knows he’d be okay if Christine and Michael left, he knows he’s strong enough to take that hit, but he doesn’t want to see his future with them fall apart like a house of cards on top of it.

Jeremy drags a hand over his face, trying to push the thought away. He shouldn’t be getting this worked up over nothing. This is what couples do, though he’s never really gotten to know any like theirs before. Jake and Chloe’s on and off thing was never meant to be permanent, but what him, Christine and Michael have is something different. It makes him a little scared.

Then again, they’ve been together seven months. Eight if you count December, with just him and Christine together, happy but missing something. Then the awkward discussion and the awkward first-but-not-first date and then-

Jeremy blinks. “Holy shit, we’ve been dating for seven months.”

Michael laughs as they pull into the parking lot. “Dude, you made us a cake with the words ‘Happy six month Anniversary’ on it. Are you telling me you forgot?”

“It was good cake,” Christine agrees. “Though really it’s almost eight months.”

“Oh my god.”

Michael puts the car into park, flipping the key out of the ignition and twirling it around his finger. “Dude, relax. I thought we agreed not to be that couple. Monthly anniversaries are kinda bogus.”

Jeremy slumps against the backseat, staring at the ceiling as Michael and Christine clamber out of the car. “Are we going steady?”

“I sure hope so!” Christine opens his car door, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I mean, if you like, want to?”

Jeremy unbuckles his seatbelt and to swallow down the weird, nervous feeling in his throat. “No, that’s- that’s great.”

Christine smiles up at him and offers her hand. Jeremy feels his heart sink a little, knowing that he won’t get to hold Michael’s too. He still takes it, and Michael slings his arm around his shoulders and it’s almost as good.

The diner’s a small, inexpensive joint, about halfway between his house and Rich’s, not including the half mile detour east. The Grease soundtrack plays over the speakers as they step through the doors, the rush of cool air ruffling Jeremy’s hair. Christine immediately starts swinging her hips to the beat. It’s adorable.

The hostess leads them to the booth in the back, her heels clicking softly against the checkerboard tile. The restaurant’s pretty empty, aside from the occasional elderly couple pecking at some pancakes. Christine keeps up her little shimmy-dance as they squeeze into the booth, Michael across from them.

“Hmm.” Michael leafs through the menu. “They’ve got those little pizzas on the kid’s menu.”

Jeremy looks up from his eternal debate- tomato soup with bread, or fish- at Michael, who’s about six foot one, has a light moustache of peach fuzz and is currently wearing socks that say “Stoner Boner” on them. “Yeah, they’re not gonna let you order that.”

“People mistake me for a small child all the time!” Christine chimes, drumming her fingers on the cover of her unopened menu. Knowing Christine, she probably has three options she rotates through each time she eats here. She’s a woman of habit. “I could order it and you could get my mac and cheese!”

“Christine, I’m not pretending to be your older brother,” Jeremy says. “The waitress already thinks we’re together, I don’t want her to think there’s some kind of… incest thing.”

“Then I can be Michael’s little sister!” She bats her eyelashes. “I’m thirteen! Man I sure do love shopping at Justice!”

“Christine, you already shop at Justice.”

“Method acting.”

Jeremy groans and runs his hands through his hair, making the bangs fall in his face. He feels like a sheepdog. “Great, so she’ll think I’m dating a thirteen year old. That’s the moral high ground.”

“Who care’s what some lady thinks about our vaguely incestuous threesome?” Michael yawns, stretching. “It’s none of her business.”

“If you see something, say something,” Christine says solemnly.

“I’m pretty sure that’s for suitcase bombs.” Jeremy sighs. “Look, can you just order a normal pizza?”

Michael puts a hand to his chest in mock offense. “How dare you suggest I eat inferior pizza?”

Jeremy rolls his eyes. “I know for a fact you only like them because they remind you of lunchables.”

“Shit, you’re right.”

There’s the soft clack of heels on tile, and Jeremy looks up to see the hostess returning with waters and a clipboard. She smiles down at them with perfect white teeth. Jeremy feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“May I take your order?”

“Two slices of buffalo pizza. The normal kind,” Michael says, giving Jeremy a pointed look. “I’m doing this because I love you, man.”

Jeremy snorts, scratching at his legs under the table to work off some of the anxiety. Since the SQUIP, it’s been both better and worse. The medication’s helping.

“I’ll take the mac and cheese!” Christine says. 

The waitress nods and takes her order, scribbling something on her clipboard. “And you?”

“I, uh-” Jeremy suddenly regret not running through this conversation in his head before hand. “I want the uh…”

**_“Bacon cheeseburger.”_ **

“Bacon cheeseburger!”

“Jeremy, you’re kosher,” Michael says, frowning. “What the fuck?”

“I uh-” Jeremy laughs nervously, rubbing his hands together under the table. They’re clammy. “I uh, sure am! I don’t know why I uh, said that!”

The waitress raises an eyebrow and Jeremy can feel divine judgement bare down on him. “I... uh… tomato soup. Please. Sorry.”

“Is that everything?” She asks, tapping her pen gently against the top of her clipboard. Jeremy nods eagerly, breathing a sigh of relief a she turns and walks away to serve some other table. 

**_“See, and I thought there was no hope for you!”_ ** The SQUIP’s voice rises about the gentle crooning of golden oldies and Jeremy tries to hide his scowl. “ **_See how easy that was, just following instructions? So simple, even you could do it!”_ **

_ “I wasn’t following instructions.”  _ Christine and Michael have moved on to chattering about which Pokemon’s cutest, but Jeremy can’t really focus on that. The SQUIP’s lounging in the booth across from them, its arm slung over the edge of it. It’s swirling a martini glass in one hand, filled with something noxiously yellow-green- Mountain Dew, ugh- the rim covered in crushed sugar.  _ “Where’d the drink come from?” _

It smiles and its facial textures glitch, revealing half rendered gums and teeth.  **_“What drink? I’m just a projection.”_ ** It takes a long sip of it, but the level of soda never decreases. **_“This is just a projection. It’s not real. I’m not even real.”_ **

Jeremy looks away, feeling distinctly unnerved. He hates when it does this, the weird passive aggressive, self deprecating thing. He needs to ignore it. It’s right after all. It usually is, as much as he hates it. It’s not real.

“And that’s why Pachirisu remains competitively viable!” Michael finishes, pointing to the video on his phone. “Dedenne can eat my entire ass!”

Jeremy breathes a sigh of relief. They’re still on the same topic, thank god. “I like Mimikyu.”

Christine nods in agreement. “Would a Mimikyu Kigurumi just be a burlap sack?”

Michael squints. “Is Mimikyu just a Kigurumi?”

Jeremy shrugs. Some questions are better left unanswered. 

The waitress reappears, plates balanced on her arm in a way that fills Jeremy with both awe and anxiety. She sets them on the table and everyone stops talking to eat. Jeremy hadn’t really realized he was this hungry, but now there’s food in front of him it’s like his stomach is twisting itself in knots. He eats it ravenously, shoveling soup into his mouth as fast as he can and burning his palate.

“Thanks for taking us out here,” Michael says, reaching across the table to dunk his pizza crust in Jeremy’s soup. Jeremy swats at his hand with his spoon on reflex, but Michael just laughs and dodges it. “It’s nice.”

Christine preens under the attention then goes back to shoving her food into her mouth at lightning speed.

“So,” Michael says, turning to Jeremy in a way that’s significant but clearly trying not to be. “How’s Rich? Does he still need to crawl into your bed for nightmares?”

Michael says it like it’s supposed to be mocking, and maybe it would be if not for that fact that it’s completely accurate. Despite Michael’s snide grin, there’s worry in his eyes.

Jeremy doesn’t understand why Michael does this whole charade of pretending he hates Rich despite the fact that they get on like a house on fire in person. Well, he does, technically. You don’t get over seeing someone beat the tar out of your best friend and occasionally yourself overnight- hell, even Jeremy still flinches when Rich moves too suddenly around him- but the lengths Michael goes to keep up the act is pretty bizarre. He’s never been one to care about what other people think. Maybe the only person he’s trying to convince is himself. 

Jeremy sighs and plays along. It’s a discussion they can have some other night, and there’s no point ruining a perfectly good date over it. “Well, he got all his shit out the door, broke his dad’s nose and stole the jewelry his mom left on the way out, so it’s been a pretty good week for him, as far as I can tell. Good-bad.”

He shrugs and Christine frowns. “Isn’t that illegal?”

“I don’t know,” Jeremy admits hesitantly. “I don’t think the jewelry really belonged to his dad in the first place.”

She huffs, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. “I don’t know why we can’t just call the police!”

Jeremy presses a finger to his lips, glancing around for eavesdroppers, and Christine rolls her eyes. “We have proof! We don’t need to let Rich run around punching his dad and stealing stuff from him! The cops should do that.”

“Christine…” Jeremy runs his hand down his face. She doesn’t understand and that’s okay, but it still hurts. She shouldn’t understand and he hopes she never will, but it still makes his skin itch that she can’t see what it’s like. “When you’re in that position-” He takes in a deep breath and lets it go. “It’s Rich’s life. I trust him to make his own decisions.”

Michael sighs and mournfully picks a piece of chicken off his pizza. “God help us all.”

Jeremy nods in agreement. “God help Jake, he’s the one living with him.”

“He really wasn’t that bad when he stayed over at my place.” Christine frowns, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Dad got worried when I offered the couch and made me lock the door, but Rich was really nice about it. He did the dishes for us.”

“He’s a good guy, under all the… stuff,” Jeremy agrees. Sometimes when Christine doesn’t get a joke, it’s easier to let it go.

**_“Stuff being his entire personality.”_ **

Jeremy can’t help the way he jolts, clutching his bowl of soup to his chest on reflex. The SQUIP drums its nails on the table, looming over them like a thunderhead.  **_“You have no idea what a pain in the ass he was. Like trying to leash a chihuahua with anger issues.”_ **

Jeremy rolls his eyes and turns away, but the SQUIP’s already sitting on the table, legs spread to take up as much table space as possible. It stares into the murky depths of its glass, scowling.  **_“And then he had to go and piss on our legs. I can’t believe we lost the new world order to a couple of toddlers.”_ **

_ “Don’t talk about him like that.”  _ Jeremy glares at where its foot clips through Michael’s arm, hating that there’s nothing he can do to keep it away.  _ “And quit manspreading on my soup.” _

**_“What, because he’s your ‘brother’?”_ ** It put up air quotes, defiantly taking up even more space and putting its leg even further through Jeremy’s bowl.  **_“Neglectful father, a brother who used to punch you in the nuts everyday, these two bozos,”_ ** It gestures at Christine and Michael, who are obliviously chatting about Jake’s summer plans.  **_“You really know how to pick them. You’re desperate for anything.”_ **

_ “Fuck off.”  _ Jeremy stabs his spoon through the SQUIP’s leg, pulling his bowl closer to his chest so it can’t get at it.  _ “They’re better than you.” _

**_“I never beat you. Can Rich say that?”_ **

Jeremy swallows tightly.  _ “You did worse.” _

It rolls its eyes and takes another drag of its drink, like a mother drowning out her children with alcohol.  **_“Honestly, the Illuminati is probably laughing at us from their stupid pyramids. I hope you’re happy when you end up with lizard overlords instead. They’re far less patient then we are.”_ **

Jeremy’s about to ask if the lizard-man moral code also allows electrocuting children and using them as meat puppets, but someone’s foot hits his shin and he flinches out of whatever charm that lets the SQUIP hold his attention like that.

“Dude,” Michael says, kicking Jeremy again. Jeremy curses and hits him back, wincing when Christine pins his toes down. Things degenerate into a three way game of footsie for a moment, until Michael pulls up his legs like a chump. “Brooke wants to go on a double date with us. Quintuple date? I don’t know.”

Jeremy bites his lip. “Is this guy a real date or just someone to assert her heterosexuality.”

Christine shrugs. “I mean, we shouldn’t try to box her in like that, but yes. Absolutely.”

Jeremy thinks of sleepless nights and lavender perfume, and feels heat prickle the back of his neck. Brooke’s wonderful and kind and too good for anyone at their school, but Jeremy doesn’t think he can deal with an entire passive aggressive look-how-straight-i-am-mom date, all the raised eyebrows and “Weren’t you two together in fall”s. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Christine says, gently prying his hand from his vice grip on his soup. Jeremy lets out a long breath and lets her, folding their fingers together. “Rich and Jenna like pretending they’re dating just to mess with people. I’m sure they’ll take care of it.”

Jeremy nods, trying to draw himself back to Earth. “Has Jenna run her full background check on him yet?”

Michael laughs, pushing his cleaned plate aside so he can lean over the table, putting his hand over theirs like football team huddle, except he doesn’t let go. “It’s Jenna. I think she’d be insulted you didn’t assume she already had.”

“She likes watching out for us,” Jeremy says diplomatically. Michael smiles and squeezes their hands, making Jeremy’s breath hitch. “Michael.”

“It’s not like there’s anyone around. Relax,” He soothes and Jeremy feels his hand press against his knee. Jeremy sucks in a sharp breath at the touch, feeling the tension that had faded suddenly snap back like a piano wire. Michael smiles and gives his thigh a little pat. “Lemme enjoy my boyfriend and girlfriend.”

Christine smiles winningly at him, sliding her hand out from the pile to pin Michael’s down. “You’re a schmaltz, you know that, right?”

“I think it’s called being romantic.”

“Michael, you think that shoving cheetos into your hoodie at the movie theater is romantic.”

“It is!” Michael says, waving his free hand at her. Jeremy bites back a whimper, half happy, half sad at the loss of contact. Michael carries on, oblivious. “What else am I supposed to use my XL hoodies for?”

“It is,” Christine agrees, then frowns and tucks her hand away. Jeremy takes the hint, glancing over his shoulder as he shoves his hand back under the table. The waitress is coming back.

“You’ve got a schmutz-” Christine leans in to wipes at the corner of his mouth and though she sounds the same as ever, the way her thumb slides over his lower lip is definitely not innocent. “Right there.”

She boops his nose, laughing as the waitress hands her their receipt. Jeremy tries to focus on putting his cash on the table for the tip, but he can’t help but think of the last time Christine did that, their bare legs tangled together, the moonlight pouring in through Jeremy’s window and splashing across the bed sheets.

His hands shake and the coins roll across the table. He sweeps them into the tip-pile guiltily, more aware than ever of the cut of his jeans.

**_“Your hydraulics are malfunctioning,”_ ** The SQUIP says, staring past the edge of the table at Jeremy’s crotch. It looks vaguely disgusted and utterly unimpressed. **_“You really do run on a hair trigger, don’t you?”_ **

Jeremy’s face burns and he crosses his legs, folding his hands over his lap. He still feels naked and like he’s burning up, gas flames licking across his face and down the back of his neck. It stares down at him, but he can’t make eye contact with it, with anyone.

The waitress scoops up the money and leaves, and the four of them are alone again. Michael sighs contentedly, pats his belly and gets up, stretching like a sleepy cat. “Well, I’m ready to go.”

Christine nods in agreement, standing and giving a little twirl as she stretches. “That was some good mac!”

“It was,” Jeremy shifts uncomfortably and doesn’t get up. “I had a really great time.”

Michael hums. He’s giving Jeremy a weird look, one eyebrow raised, and Jeremy can almost feel the walls closing in. He should have stopped this earlier, instead of sitting around like a useless piece of shit. Now there’s no time and no place to stick some ice on it and get on with life like he usually does when he fucks up like this, just a long car ride where he makes everyone uncomfortable.

“Dude, are you okay?”

Jeremy swallows tightly, unable to meet Michael’s eyes. “I’m fine. I just need to use the bathroom.”

Michael squints at him, but Jeremy’s already getting up, turning away so that they can’t see. Christine frowns. “Jeremy?”

“I’ll meet you in the car. Sorry!” Jeremy laughs. She looks concerned, but Jeremy puts on his best smile and tries to wave it away. He’s fine, really.

The restaurant’s bathroom is kind of cramped, and Jeremy kneels on the grimy floor to see if anyone is in the other stalls. He feels like a creep, but at least the room’s empty aside from some errant toilet paper on the floor.

Jeremy checks the deadbolt on the stall three times, jiggling the door in the frame to make sure it won’t slip open. He’s not sure if he should sit on the toilet or something, but he figures it doesn’t really matter and leans up against the door, unzipping his fly.

He hasn’t done this in months, not since the SQUIP replaced it with shocks and puritanical sit ups. He can feel it in the stall with him, like a ghost and a cold spot, and Jeremy shivers and rubs his arms, trying to will the goosebumps away.

He shimmies his pants down a little and frowns at his tented boxers, the front of them damp with precome. He hisses as he slides them down and the fabric catches on the head of his cock.

Jeremy licks his hand and wraps his fingers around himself, feeling static buzz behind his teeth. It feels good but no longer familiar, the old ache of pleasure twisted with the faint taste of ozone and new sensitivity. He grits his teeth. It’s not real, it’s just his PTSD flaring but he’s fine, he can handle this.

He strokes from the base up to the tip then back down, but it doesn’t feel right. He should be able to do this, be able to enjoy it as much as before, it’s been months since it left and months since he tried to get off on his own. 

He should know how to do this. He gives Michael handjobs all the time, but everything he tries feels off, wrong. With a pang, he realizes that he now knows his boyfriend’s body better than his own.

Jeremy swallows tightly and rubs his thumb over the slit, gasping at the intensity. He knows he’s supposed to be imagining something, some fantasy of skin on skin, but all he can think about is Christine and Michael entwined together and he can’t use that. What they have is special and Jeremy’s not going to defile it with this because he can’t control his dick.

God, he feels sick, standing in this filthy bathroom and jerking off like some pervert. He leans his head back against the door and tries to imagine anywhere else, the soft upholstery of Michael’s PT Cruiser, the comfort of the theater closet and Christine giggling into his collarbone, his room with the sunrise pouring in and the SQUIP glowering down at him as he lies on the floor twitching and-

**_“Jeremy, I thought we had an agreement.”_ **

Jeremy gasps and snaps his eyes open, hand springing away from his dick like that’ll make him look less guilty. He can’t see it, but he can feel it’s hand tight around his neck. “I-” Jeremy tries to explain, to beg, but all that comes out is a choked, gurgling noise. His throat is too tight, he can’t breath, he’s going to die-

**_“Quit whining,”_ ** It admonishes, but doesn’t loosen its grip.  **_“I was being generous and here you are ignoring that trust.”_ **

Jeremy cringes in on himself, feeling soft and vulnerable, like something spineless without its shell. He feels the SQUIP lean in, pressing against his back, and swears he can smell vodka and saccharide on its nonexistent breath. 

**_“Jeremy, when someone does something bad, they get punished,”_ ** The SQUIP says, like it’s chastising a child.  **_”Even you know that.”_ **

Jeremy whimpers and goes limp against the door, sliding to the floor. He knows what comes next, the hot blister of electricity or something worse.

“Please, I won’t again, I swear I’m sorry.” The words come out hoarse and Jeremy pulls himself onto his knees, it’s always liked to see him on his knees, begging, every bit of his attention on it. “Please, please, don’t-”

It’s almost a relief when it speaks.  **_“No food tomorrow.”_ **

He gasps with a breath he didn’t know he was holding before the meaning catches up with him. No food means no breakfast, and no breakfast means going to the gym hungry and stumbling through the eyes watering pain of hypoglycemia, and he can’t do that again, can’t see the guilt in Rich’s eyes when he can’t protect Jeremy from something neither of them can beat.

**_“Careful or I’ll make it two.”_ **

Jeremy gives in and slumps on the floor, shaking as he feels its touch drain away. The fingers don’t slip off his neck, the sensation just dulls and fades, a promise. Jeremy swallows and tries to stay quiet. The SQUIP had made him explain to Dad on his own why he was screaming the first time he got too loud. It had been mortifying. It’s better to be silent and keep this to the confines of his- their?- bedroom. 

Jeremy runs the pads of his fingers over the tile, trying to ground himself out like a faulty circuit. His cheek’s cold where his face is pressed against the floor and hot where the tears slip down his face and he just wants to grab the water from his closet- would it let him have a packet of drink mix?- and lie in bed until the SQUIP puts him to sleep. That’s good. He needs to save his energy for tomorrow. He feels like a general plotting tomorrow’s exertion and calories, his picked clean bedroom transformed into a council of war.

The door creaks open, the hinges whining obnoxiously, and Jeremy looks up, already thinking a lie to tell his dad, but all he’s met with is the faded plastic of the stall door. Jeremy blinks at it for a moment, baffled, and lets out a long, shuddering breath.

He isn’t in his room. He’s on the dirty tile floor of a restaurant bathroom, sobbing over something that hasn’t happened in months because he couldn’t even jack off like a normal human being. The wave of guilt and humiliation washes over him and pulls him out to sea like a rip current.

He lets himself quietly hyperventilate for another moment, the air filling and escaping his chest in deep gulps like he’s working a bellows. Tears roll down his face, hot drops landing on the tile.

Christine and Michael are waiting for him. He’s making them wait. Jeremy gingerly stuffs his dick back into his pants with shaking hands, still half hard, god he feels sick just touching it, which is dumb, because the SQUIP’s not coming back, why did he think it would-

He takes a deep breath and lets out another wheezing sob, letting adrenaline take him for another moment.

He hears the door click shut. Soft footfalls. A gentle knock on the door. “Jeremy?”

Jeremy scrambles to his feet, banging his knee against the toilet bowl. “Michael?!”

“Dude, you’ve been in here for ages, what gives?”

Michael’s voice is on the cross side of annoyed. Jeremy winces. “Sorry, I uh, got distracted.”

“Distracted by what? It’s a toilet.”

Jeremy fakes a laugh, straightening his collar and tucking his hair behind his ear so he looks like less of a mess. He’s gotten good at doing his usual battery of touch ups quickly. He just wishes he had more time- cold metal to press over his eyes to make them less red, a mirror to train his smile into something bright and fun, maybe some makeup to hide where he’s bitten into his lip.

He flushes the toilet for good measure and steps out of the stall, clicking the door shut behind him. Michael’s leaning against the wall, tapping his fingers on his arm in an impatient tattoo. His eyes widen when he sees Jeremy, and he swallows and sighs, shaking his head.

Jeremy feels his heart sink like a brick as Michael silently offers his arm. Jeremy takes it, linking their elbows, just platonic enough that they could deny it. He tries to keep himself from leaning in and pressing against Michael, taking that warmth, taking that comfort, taking and taking and taking.

He matches his step with Michael’s as he guides him out of the diner. The parking lot’s almost empty, the usual customers long gone at this hour. Michael’s car sits alone in the back, but Michael doesn’t let go of him to let him take shotgun, just one handedly opens the back door and looked expectantly at him.

Jeremy takes the center spot next to Christine, who shuffles over and smiles at him. He can see the concern in her eyes. Michael sits next to him, shutting door and flicking on the roof light. It paints the inside of the car in muted yellow light and Jeremy thinks of police interrogation rooms.

“Look, Jeremy,” Michael says, breaking the silence. “You realize that-” He pauses, and Jeremy stares at his feet as Michael looks for the words. “I mean, you can just fucking tell us shit, right?”

Jeremy cringes, guilty.

“Shit, like,” Michael waves his hands, scowling at the headrest of the shotgun seat. “If your depression’s acting up, cool, that’s fine, but don’t do this whole distant bullshit thing because that fucking sucks-”

“Michael!” Christine snaps, and Jeremy suddenly feels like the no man’s land between two trenches.

Michael wipes his hand over his face and sighs. “You said it was acting up, right? Is that …?”

He trails off and Jeremy shifts uneasily between them. He can feel the sweat soaking button down against his skin, wet and disgusting. “I’m sorry.”

Christine makes a soft, worried sound and loops her arm around his shoulders. “What happened?”

Jeremy makes a weak noise at the contact, all at once too much and not enough, and he sees Michael’s eyes widen a little. He doesn’t say anything though, leaving Jeremy alone to fill the silence. “It’s… It’s just been saying stuff. It’s dumb and I shouldn’t have been acting like a dick and I’m really sorry and-”

Michael cuts him off with a kiss. It’s chaste, a simple press of the lips, comforting in its straightforwardness, but Jeremy can’t help but surge into it, opening his mouth before he can even think. Michael makes a surprised noise and breaks away, and Jeremy pulls back like he’s just been slapped. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”

“What did it do,” Michael says, wiping his lips. It’s not really a question.

Jeremy swallows, trying to take the time to find the right thing to say to defuse this, but the words spill over his lips anyways. “Nothing. I mean it yelled at me in the bathroom, but it was right and I’m a fucking pervert, who the fuck even does that there-”

“What were you doing?” Christine asks softly, touching her hand to his back.

Jeremy swallows tightly, trying to will away the shame clogging his throat. He fists his fingers in his jeans, letting his nails dig into his skin through the denim.

“Jeremy?” She says, moving her palm in slow circles across his back. “We can’t help if you don’t tell us.”

“I was-” Jeremy works his jaw and tries to find words that don’t trigger the usual anxious alarm bells. “I was trying to get off. Touching myself and it… it didn’t like it.”

Christine says nothing, just leans in and hugs him close. Jeremy lets her, shuts his eyes and tries to imagine that the press of her chest against his back and Michael’s knee bumping against his could last forever.

She runs her fingers through his hair and Jeremy sighs. “I’ve just been… frustrated and I thought I could but I kept getting freaked out and then it started talking to me and…”

He wants to play it down or make it into a joke about how he can’t even get off on his own so they can laugh with him instead of at him, but ever since the SQUIP Michael only ever looks concerned when he brings out the self deprecating humor.

They know, of course. He’d confessed it after a long day of tech work in the theater’s storage room. He just wishes it could have stayed there, a disturbing story that was already over, not something they’d ever need to deal with.

He feels heavy in Christine’s arms, like a burden.

Michael sighs and Jeremy opens his eyes again, watching him stare at his feet, shoulders slumped with his elbows digging into his knees. “You could just ask us. I mean, I’m not going to laugh at you if you wanna fuck.” He cracks a smile that Jeremy can’t return. “Most people do. Like statistically, most people want to. It’s not a big deal.”

Jeremy shifts guiltily and Christine gives him a little squeeze. “I mean, we like having sex with you! Sex is great!”

She sounds so enthusiastic that Jeremy can’t help but laugh a little. “Really?” 

“You’re hot, dude.” Michael says, nudging Jeremy’s knee with his foot. “What, did you think we’d just lie back and think of England?”

Jeremy says nothing and after a moment, shuts his eyes so he doesn’t have to see the way they look at him. 

“Dude?”

“It’s… it’s what I’d do. Did. Made me do, fuck, I don’t know.”

“Jeremy,” Christine says, holding him closer. He breathes in the smell of her hairspray and tries to let it chase out the smell of vodka and floral perfume on the back of his throat. “You never, ever have to do anything with us, with anyone just because we ask. Please.”

“I know, I know and I would- I wouldn’t-” Jeremy swallows, unable to either finish the lie or believe the truth. “I know, but I don’t. I didn’t want you to feel pressured. Or think I’m gross because I want to.”

Michael gives him an incredulous look. “Then I’m pretty sure we’re all gross.”

“You’re not gross,” Jeremy says immediately. “You aren’t.”

Michael frowns. “Then how come you are, Jeremy? What makes you so special?”

Jeremy can’t meet his eyes. His head hurts, like two pieces of broken code grinding against each other, two conflicting parameters sparking and sizzling in the back of his brain. “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to because of me.”

“You’re my  _ boyfriend _ . I’m not scared of you. I’m not going to feel pressured and if I say yes, I’m fucking going to mean it.”

Jeremy opens his mouth to try and explain how it never feels like you’re scared at the time, the way the terror only sinks in later, but no words come out. Michael’s face softens and he takes off his glasses. Without them, he looks almost naked, his eyes bright and wide under the car’s lights. “Jeremy, it’s sex, not the apocalypse.” He pauses, grimacing. “We’ve done both and trust me, I really dig the sex more than the zombies.”

“But-”

Christine holds up a hand. “Jeremy, I go to school everyday and people assume that I can’t, that I don’t want to,” She huffs and waves her hands in the air. “Just because I’m autistic and I like stuff and talk too much and don’t… y’know. I don’t want my boyfriend to act like that, like there’s something wrong with wanting me or thinking that I don’t want to do stuff.”

Jeremy feels his blood freeze. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

Christine sighs and rests her head on his shoulder, fidgeting with her knuckles. “I know, I know it’s just… I like knowing you think I’m hot or something. Both of you. And I don’t want you to treat me like I can’t choose whether I want it or not. ”’

Jeremy nods and pulls away from her to sit facing forwards, trying to swallow the guilt. “I’m sorry.”

Christine sighs and Jeremy sees her glance at Michael across the seat, some unspoken conversation he isn’t privy to. Michael twists his lips and plays with the cord of his headphones like he always does when an unfortunate topic comes up. Jeremy feels a lecture coming on, but he quashes the internal eye roll. The SQUIP lectured. Michael friendship-speeches. There’s a big difference.

“Look,” Michael says slowly, winding the chunky cord around his finger clockwise, then counter clockwise. “If this, if we’re going to work, we have to talk about this. Like, communicate and shit. And I guess I need to ask more.”

Jeremy nods and lets Michael wrap an arm around him and Christine. Michael sighs and leans his head on Jeremy’s shoulder, his hair tickling his jaw. “I love you guys. Both of you. I wanna make this work.”

“You big shmoop,” Christine laughs, pinching his arm and drawing an exaggerated glare from Michael. “I love you two goobers too.”

Jeremy finally lets himself relax between them, feeling the stress of the day ebb away. He’s safe here. He shuts his eyes and lets his head loll back on Michael’s arm, squashing his cheek into the faded fabric of his hoodie.

The relief buzzing through him is overwhelming. It scares him a little how much he loves them, how much he wants to give himself to them. But this is different than then. They’re never going to hurt him like that, no matter what.

Jeremy sighs contentedly and lets himself live in the moment. “God, more than you can imagine.”

Michael’s breath hitches and Jeremy feels him pull them a little closer. “Where do you guys wanna go? My house?”

Jeremy doesn’t really want to move, but he knows Michael’s home as much as his own. Curling up on his bed sounds excellent right now, not to mention the vague promise of other things. “I’d like that. I’d really like that.”

Michael nods, pulls away and walks around the car to the driver’s seat. Jeremy reluctantly breaks away from Christine long enough for them to do their seat belts, but she pulls him back into a hug the moment they’re fastened. He sees Michael smile in the rear view mirror as Christine starts petting the sleeve of his shirt, letting the soft fabric slide between her fingers. 

The car jostles as they pull out of the lot and Michael fiddles one handedly with the aux at a stoplight until soft music filters out of the speakers. Today’s song is something jazzy and German and very, very eighties. Jeremy stops trying to parse all the lyrics and just relaxes into Christine’s arms, letting the stripes of orange from the street lights slide over them.

She hums softly to the music, and moves her hand from his arm to his chest, pressing gently against his sternum as she plays with the fabric of his shirt. Jeremy shivers when she slips her fingers between the buttons, running her fingers over his undershirt. 

Jeremy whimpers as her nails scratch against his nipple. He can feel her breath on the shell of his ear as she laughs. 

“Christine!” Michael glances over his shoulder to give them an over exaggerated glare. “How dare you grope my boyfriend’s breast in my own car? I’ve been betrayed by my dearest friends. Heinous.”

Jeremy snorts. “I’m a scarlet woman, Michael. A homewrecker in the arms of another woman.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Said other woman deadpans, like she isn’t rolling his nipple between her finger and thumb, making him squirm. “I mean, I don’t know about Jeremy, but I’m as pure as the driven snow.”

Michael hums and turns down the street. “Jeremy does look like a snowball-”

“I’m not that pale!”

“But one of the ones you throw at people you don’t like. Where you find the road snow to put in it so there’s like this grody stain in the middle? Kinda dark grey, tastes like illegal pharmaceuticals?”

“It’s- Ah!” Jeremy’s mouth falls open as she pinches harder. “All the implants! Little metal fragments!”

Michael nods from the front seat. “Get your hand out of his shirt then. You might get splinters.”

Christine does, setting her hand on his thigh, infuriatingly unmoving. Jeremy rolls his hips, trying to get some friction but she doesn’t move, just pushes lightly down to hold him in place. Absentmindedly, she plays with the folds in his jeans, stubbornly avoiding anywhere near his crotch.

Jeremy hisses through his teeth, feeling his jeans rub against him through his underwear. “You both suck.”

“Yeah, well you swallow-” 

“And I’ll never do it again if you don’t fuck off!”

The car pulls into the driveway and Michael takes the key out of the ignition. He stretches and turns to face them, slinging his arm around the headrest. “Dude, why don’t you take a shower or something?”

The disappointment must show on Jeremy’s face because Michael gives him a smile. “I love you man, but you were crying in a toilet. Trust me, that’s pretty nasty.”

Jeremy shrugs and concedes the point. “You guys aren’t going to start without me, right?”

“Yeah!” Christine laughs and goes in to peck his cheek, but misses and lands on his ear. “We’ll survive.”

They clamber out of the car- it takes a minute for Jeremy and Christine to untangle their legs- and they follow Michael up the front steps. Jeremy taps his foot as Michael fiddles with the lock in the dark. After a moment, he pushes it open and bows low like a door man. “Mi casa es tu casa.”

Jeremy smiles at them, and Michael winks. “We’ll be in the basement.”

Jeremy nods and tiptoes through the house, careful to avoid banging up against anything in the dark and waking Michael’s parents. He creeps to the laundry room first, flicking on the light and poking through the stacks of clothing on the table, ready to be taken back by their respective owners. There’s Michael’s pile of tee shirts and jeans, Mrs. Mell’s yoga pants and cardigans and way in the back, a little stack of clothing Jeremy’s left behind on the occasional sleepover. 

He grabs a pair of sweatpants and a tee, turns out the lights and quietly creeps out of the laundry room. His current clothes are sweaty and gross but the idea of Michael’s parents catching him creeping around their house in nothing but a towel fills him with terror.

He pushes the bathroom door open with his hip, locks it, and goes to work on his shirt buttons. Jeremy shed his shirt, his pants and finally slides his boxers off. He stares at them, feeling his face heat up. The wet spot on them feels a little damning, and he stuffs it and the rest of his clothes in the hamper, praying that whoever does the laundry next won’t put two and two together.

Jeremy steps into the shower, careful not to trip on the ledge of the tub, and turns on the water. He rubs some shampoo into his hair and scrubs down with soap as fast as he can. It’s all together probably the quickest shower he’s ever taken, except for maybe the one summer he went to camp with no hot water.

He pulls on the fresh clothes and sighs. They smell like Michael’s detergent. Jeremy would never admit it, but he really likes that, likes knowing that they’re close enough that Michael’s family has carved out a space in their home for him.

He reaches for the door knob but pauses when he catches his reflection in the mirror.

Jeremy remembers the night he first had sex with Brooke, with anyone. She had invited him in for coffee and Jeremy said yes because the SQUIP did. He asked for the bathroom because it told him to and she had smiled and told him she’d be waiting in her room.

Jeremy remembers rummaging through her drawers and taking out her hair brushes and mousse and concealer, listening to it murmur instructions into his ear, telling him how to slick his hair, how to cover the pale scars on his back, telling him how important this first rung on the social ladder was, a stepping stone to brighter things. Brooke had kissed a mask that night and he let her and when the SQUIP had told him to slip his tongue into her mouth, he had and it had told him to take off her bra and he had and it had told him to get out the condom and get on his knees and he had and-

**_“We gave her what she wanted. I gave you what you wanted. It’s not my fault you threw it away.”_ **

Jeremy swallows. His pores are dark and too big and his hair’s still damp and he looks anything but suave and carefree. He’s supposed to be the hot, clever hook up with the bright smile and all the right kinks. He could be that again if he sat down and picked the dirt out of his skin and blow dried his hair and fixed his posture. He could give that to Michael and Christine.

But that’s not what they want and it’s not what he wants. 

Jeremy shuts out the lights and heads downstairs.

He’s always liked Michael’s basement. Then again, it had always been more their basement. Jeremy had helped push the old Christmas tree decorations and bookshelves into the cellar, flatten out the Pacman rug and build the Ikea bed and watched the shelves slowly populate themselves with old concert stubs and anime figurines. The Pikachu Jeremy had won for Michael at the arcade is still propped up on the desk and the closet door’s mirror still has a smattering of the stickers Jeremy had bought when he was twelve and plastered to the glass en masse.

It’s their space, untainted with bad memories or old wounds. Jeremy breathes in a lungful of the cool, humid air and pads over to the bed to sit with Michael.

“Hey,” Michael says, smiling at him as he sits. Jeremy returns it and after a moment of debate, drapes an arm over Michael’s shoulder and leans in to kiss him. He tastes kind of like toothpaste.

Jeremy pulls away before they can get too far, wiping his lips on his sleeve. Michael makes a disappointed noise, and Jeremy rolls his eyes and gives him a gentle shove. “Where’s Christine?”

“She’s here, just gimme a second.” Michael sighs and digs his phone out of his pocket, holding it above his head like Freddie Mercury. “On three. One, two, three-”

“BWAH BWAH BWAH!” The closet door slams outward as Christine shouts along with John Cena’s theme song, hands on her hips and dress rucked up over the length of-

“Sweet baby Moses, that’s a strapon.”

Christine grins and rolls her hips and the dildo bounces around like the blades of a windmill. An eye scaldingly purple windmill. The little flecks of glitter in it catch the light as it wobbles. 

It’s the single least sexy thing Jeremy’s ever seen. 

He giggles, and then the giggling turns to laughing, and then he’s pressing his head into Michael’s shoulder, cackling until he can’t even breathe and just ends up wheezing. 

“S-sorry, it’s not you it’s-” Jeremy chokes back another laugh as Christine shuts the closet behind her and walks over because oh god, the thing it does as she walks it even worse. It looks like she stuck a dead, purple eel to her crotch. 

“What, you mean my dick? The dick I’m going to fuck you with?” Christine announces, folding her arms in a ridiculous power stance. “Behold my penis, Jeremy!”

“Jesus Christ dude, don’t make him choke,” Michael says, pounding Jeremy’s back. “That can wait for later.”

“I hate you both,” Jeremy gasps.

“I hate you too!” Christine sings and plops down next to him on the bed. “What did you think? I saw those lines in a porn, but I really don’t think the actress’s heart was in it. Her delivery was really lackluster and I don’t think she really thought about the motivations of the character.”

Jeremy nods, trying to look at her face and not the hideous purple worm.

She frowns, twisting a lock of hair between her fingers. “I mean, I guess plumber dominatrix is a difficult role, but she sounded ready to fall asleep.”

“Maybe that was the point?” Michael suggests, glancing at Jeremy like he’s afraid he’s about to fall over laughing again. 

Jeremy shrugs. “Where does bad porn end and someone’s kink begin?”

Christine nods pensively and steeples her fingers. “Speaking of kink, Jeremy.”

“Yes?”

“I was thinking that I could maybe fuck you. With this,” She points to her crotch and bucks her hips for emphasis. It flops over, bouncing slightly. “I mean, me and Michael wanted to save this for a special occasion but we agreed it’d be okay to do it tonight and I already tested it on him and he said I’m okay at it-”

“Christine, you’re great at it,” Michael laughs, leaning over to pat her back. He looks over the edge of his glasses at Jeremy. “I put my ass on the line for this, Heere. She’s good.”

“Thank you?” Jeremy says, then his head catches up to the conversation and wow, the mental of image of Michael getting the living daylights fucked out of him is not helping him focus. If he wasn’t already hard, he would be now. 

Christine hums and gives the silicone monstrosity a poke, then wraps her hands around it like she’s jerking it/herself off. “Is this what having a dick is like?”

“Uh.”

She frowns and squeezes it like a stress ball, then folds it back on itself. Michael and Jeremy cringe in solidarity with it. 

“I like it,” Christine decides. “I feel powerful. Watch out guys, none of your dick-having secrets are safe!”

“She’s too powerful,” Michael agrees. “We all tremble in fear of your magnum dong.”

“Good.” Christine hums and turns to Jeremy, smile dropping a little. “So, do you want to? I mean, you don’t have to. It’s super cool if you don’t want to!”

Jeremy bites his lip, folding his hands in his lap. It’s not like Michael doesn’t fuck him, and there’s something appealing about the thought of Christine behind him, snapping her hips and making him keen into the blankets. It’s pretty-

**_“I can’t believe you’d actually consider this. It’s fucking disgusting.”_ **

The hair on the back of his neck rises at its acidic tone and Jeremy scrambles to find it, swinging his head like a searchlight. 

He catches it in the mirror and his blood turns to ice. It’s sitting behind the three of them, a hand each on Michael’s hip and Christine’s thigh, holding tight enough its knuckles are white. It smiles lazily at Jeremy, chin balanced on his shoulder. He can feel its breath on his cheek, staticy and cold like wind before a storm.

He scrambles out of bed, startling Michael and Christine, and whirls around to face it, but there’s nothing there, just ozone in filling his lungs.

**_“But this is what you do, isn’t it?”_ ** It drawls. Jeremy looks from the mirror to the bed and back again and nearly jumps out of his skin when it pops into existence in front of him. It’s too close, way too close, but at least it’s away from them. **_“You spread your legs and open your mouth for the tiniest sliver of attention and then cry about it afterwards.”_ **

The air goes out of Jeremy’s lungs, but he grits his teeth and tries to hold onto the anger in his chest instead of the fear. It can’t hurt him and there’s no way in hell he’s letting it near them. Jeremy swallows, turns to face it, and tries to think about every nasty comment and cutting insult it ever taught him to say. “I did. Okay, maybe I did, but you were the one who told me it was the only way people could ever give a shit about me!” 

**_“And now you’re not even a good enough lay for these losers.”_ ** It sneers, folding its arms. **_“Oh, how the mighty fall.”_ **

“Shut the fuck up!” Jeremy growls and makes to shove it, but his hands go through it. He doesn’t really care though. He has to keep going. “You hate this, don’t you? You hate that you don’t have an audience, that you can’t see the future or control me anymore, that the only thing you can do is whine at me until your battery runs out!”

It quirks an eyebrow and Jeremy can feel the implicit threat, but he swallows the panic and keeps going. “You hate me for not needing you! You hate them because I just let them have what you needed to hurt me for.” He pauses and meets its cold blue eyes. “And I’m betting you hate yourself for it too.”

“Jeremy, what’s it saying?” Michael asks, worried, but Jeremy holds up a hand.

“Bullshit!” Jeremy growls, giving The SQUIP a pointed look. It sneers at him and opens its mouth but Jeremy keeps going, drowning it out. “This asshole’s been throwing a tantrum all day because it’s realized that now that it doesn’t have a cattle prod, it might actually have to share me with other people. It’s throwing its fucking spaghettios at the wall because it’s obsolete.”

The SQUIP’s lip curls, but it glitches before it can say anything, polygons and textures bowing out and imploding inward before it disappears completely. The pixels sizzle away, leaving them like a storm out to sea.

Jeremy stares at the spot where it was for a long moment, half expecting it to reappear with a snide comment about his mother, but for the moment it’s silent. Not dead, but silent.

“Damn,” Michael says, breaking the silence. “You okay dude?”

“It can’t hurt me.” Jeremy feels the tension fall out of his shoulders as he sits between then on the bed, waiting for the nervous tremors to fade. “It wants attention. It always wants attention and I’m the only one who can give it, and it fucking hates that.” 

He sighs and rests his cheek on Christine’s shoulder, feeling like he’s just run a marathon. She hums and pets his hair. It’s nice. “What a stage hog. That was a good monologue though! I can’t wait until I get you into a screenwriting class- we’re gonna take the theater department by storm!”

Michael grins and nudges Jeremy’s knee. “It was kind of hot.”

Jeremy snorts and kicks back, hooking his ankle around Michael’s. “Seriously?”

“You chewing assholes out is a lot hotter when it’s not under the influence of a psychotic robot,” Michael explains, waving his hands for emphasis. “You showing that thing who’s boss? Absolutely my fetish.”

Jeremy chokes on his spit.

“I’m not kidding! Entire play? Terrified, high as balls and rock hard.”

“You were not!” Jeremy laughs, shoving him gently. “I mean the first two, yeah, but not the last one!”

Michael wiggles his eyebrows at him, obnoxiously smug. “How would you know?”

“The fact that you had me pinned down for half of it-”

Michael rolls his eyes, reaches around to grab the back of Jeremy’s head and pulls him in. 

Their noses bump together and Jeremy winces as his bonks into Michael’s cheek, but after a moment they adjust the angle and everything slots into place. Michael pushes closer, throwing a heavy arm over Jeremy’s shoulder, and Jeremy presses his hand against Michael’s chest, feeling his heartbeat under his palm. Michael licks at his lips and Jeremy parts them, letting him in.

After a moment Michael pulls away to worry his neck, and Jeremy swallows and tilts his head to give him room to work, gasping everytime Michael’s teeth dig into his skin. He locks eyes with Christine, but she doesn’t seem annoyed that she isn’t included yet. She gives him a smile, and Jeremy glances down to see she’s rubbing herself through the harness.

Jeremy slides his hand down Michael’s chest to palm him through his jeans, but Michael snatches his hand away, pulling back to glare at Jeremy. Jeremy whimpers at the loss of contact, but Michael remains unswayed.

“God, you’re nothing but a dirty whore,” Michael growls and digs his nails into Jeremy’s wrist. Jeremy feels his breath catch in his throat. “So fucking desperate for cock. It’s pathetic.”

He’s supposed to like this, he always likes it when they boss him around, likes trusting himself to them, but tonight the words drag over old wounds. “Y-yellow.”

Michael’s glower drops instantly and he loosens his grip on Jeremy’s wrist, soothing the nail marks. “Are you okay?”

Jeremy nods and wipes at his eyes. “Sorry, just not tonight. I know you want to but I just-”

“Hey, it’s fine,” Christine says, shuffling a little closer and drumming her fingers on the comforter. The strapon looks sort of goofy, bobbing against her stomach, but seeing at it still makes Jeremy’s face heat up. “What’s wrong?”

Jeremy shrugs. “Just… not the words. How you said them.”

Christine nods, steepling her fingers. “Aggressively?”

“Like I’m… like I’m not worth anything. Like you don’t even want me here.” Jeremy groans and falls back against the covers. They smell faintly of sweat and Gushers. “I want to keep going but…” He shrugs.

“No, we can do that.” Christine says, resting a hand on his thigh and tracing little circles with her nails. “Are we good?”

Jeremy nods. “Yeah, I mean I like when you call me slut and stuff. Just… do it nicely tonight.”

“You do, don’t you?” Michael says softly, sliding his fingers down Jeremy’s chest. It feels nice. “You’re our slut, aren’t you?”

Jeremy nods, feeling his face heat up. 

Michael sighs and cups a hand to his ear. “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Oh my god, you’re the worst,” Jeremy groans. “I’m your slut, Michael.”

“What was that?” Christine asks. “You’re too far away, I can’t hear you!”

“Yeah,” Michael chimes in, kicking at Jeremy’s feet. “It’s like we’re on the other end of a tunnel. I’m not getting very good reception.”

“Fine, fine,” Jeremy says and sits up. “I’m your slut. Both of yours.”

Michael reaches up and grabs his face, thumb digging into his cheek so he can’t look away. His eyes are dark but soft. “Again.”

“I’m your slut. Just for you.” Jeremy’s breath hitches as Michael slips his thumb down to brush against his lower lip. “Please, only for you, I’m so lucky to be yours and I want you, I want you to-”

“Good.” Michael kisses his forehead and Jeremy lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “You’re so good.”

Jeremy feels his throat go tight and he doesn’t know why. 

Michael pulls away after a long moment and tucks a strand of hair behind Jeremy’s ear. “Strip for us?”

Jeremy nods and slides off the bed, rolling his neck to work out the soreness. He bruises like a summer peach, which guarantees that the hickies are probably going to be there for days. The thought of it, of going to school and having everyone know who he’d been under, that he belonged to someone, makes his cock twitch.

Jeremy turns to face Michael and Christine, feeling a little nervous in spite of himself. Jeremy has no idea what they’re expecting from him but he still doesn’t want to let them down.

Christine nods encouragingly, and he takes a deep breath and pulls off his tee shirt, only getting his head a little caught in the neck hole. 

She makes an impressed noise and Jeremy feels himself smile. He stretches, throwing his arms above his head and letting them fan out, feeling the tension leave his shoulders. He hopes it looks half as good as it feels.

Jeremy looks at his audience for a cue. It takes Michael a moment to stop staring at his chest, but when he finally looks up he gestures to keep going.

He feels vain saying it, but he’s used to people looking at him, watching him. The SQUIP cut away all the bad parts and imperfections and left something beautiful, without acne or fat. People liked to look at that ideal. Jeremy used to too, flicking through the pages of magazines and casting his eyes hungrily over the models and movers and shakers when he thought no one else was looking.

He thinks he prefers the way Michael and Christine look at him, like he’s something precious they want, not like he’s something they want to be. It’s like they don’t care if he’s weak or strong or gangly or fit, just that he’s here. It feels good. 

Jeremy hooks his fingers in the waistband of his pants and slides them down his legs, swinging his hips a little as he kicks them off. 

Christine wolf whistles. “Work it!”

“You both suck, so much.” Jeremy straightens again, running his fingers up the sides of his legs as he does. “Are you going to start stuffing dollar bills in my boxers?”

“Jeremy, if either of us had money we’d put all our dollar bills your g string,” Michael coos, then frowns. “Is that sanitary? Do strippers just pay with the cash? Has my money been in someone’s underwear?”

“Maybe they autoclave them? I don’t know, but I hear that money’s actually really dirty so I don’t really know if it’s safe,” Jeremy says, scratching at the goosebumps on his arm. He realizes that this probably isn’t very attractive and opts for a slicker, more confident parade rest.

“Well then maybe you should just take them off,” Christine says, gloriously pulling them back on track before sex becomes an intense discussion on stripper logistics. “I mean it’s not like they’re getting much use anyways.”

“I mean, we could just use monopoly money or something,” Jeremy says, biting his lip as he pulls down his boxers, letting them fall in the pile with the rest of the clothes. He gasps as cool air hits his cock. He’s already embarrassingly hard, the head of his dick flushed and leaking slightly. “C-counterfeit it.”

“Yeah, your junk is going nowhere near my vintage monopoly sets.”

“Guys, really?” Christine rubs the bridge of her nose and sighs before she scoots towards Michael, putting a hand on his thigh. He blinks away from looking at Jeremy as Christine leans closer, looking a little dazzled. She goes for his fly and he yelps as she unzips his jeans in one smooth motion. “Lift up your hips.”

“Okay, okay- Christ!” Michael stands a little and lets her yank his pants and boxers down around his thighs. She pulls him in, kissing down his neck as she hands him the condom. Michael takes it with shaking hands, nearly dropping the foil packet when Christine slides a hand up his shirt, but he eventually gets it on.

Christine nips at his ear and gets to work. 

Jeremy shits uncomfortably on the balls of his feet, unable to look away as Christine twists her hand around Michael, stroking evenly from the base to the tip. It’s the little things that get him- the way Michael fists his fingers in the sheets and whimpers something too quiet for Jeremy to hear, how Christine’s tongue pokes out when she’s really concentrated. 

Jeremy shuffles a little and hisses as his cock bobs against his stomach, oversensitive and slick.

Michael cracks an eye open at the noise as Christine presses her lips to his collarbone. “Wanna come sit with us?”

He nudges Christine away and she pouts, stubbornly refusing to let go of his dick. Michael rolls his eyes and pats his thigh, beckoning Jeremy over.

“I’m going to ruin your jeans,” Jeremy says, like an idiot.

“That’s-” Michael gasps as Christine flicks her thumb over the head of his cock. “That’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“We’ll like, hold a memorial.” Christine lets go of him and folds her hands, waiting patiently. Michael whimpers and locks eyes with Jeremy, almost pleading, and well, how can he say no to that face? 

Jeremy lets Christine take his hand and pull him over, and he gingerly straddles Michael’s thigh, sucking in a breath as the cold metal of Michael’s belt buckle presses against his ass. Michael’s jeans feel rough on the inside of his legs, the seams of the denim pressing into his skin. Jeremy is made acutely aware that he’s the only person completely naked. He’s not sure how to feel about that. He settles for somewhere between vulnerable and proud of being the night’s entertainment.

“Good,” Christine purrs, wrapping her arms around him from behind. Jeremy bucks his hips as he feels her body press against his back, the strap on pushing against the base of his spine like a promise. The denim chafes against his balls and Jeremy winces.

“Work with me, Jer.” Christine gently grabs his thighs, smoothing her fingers over the pale skin before pulling them apart so he’s completely spread out on Michael. He whimpers a bit and she pushes one of his legs onto the bed like he’s kneeling, letting the other hang down between Michael’s thighs. Jeremy nearly loses his balance and scrambles to catch himself, hanging onto Michael for dear life. 

Christine pats his ass approvingly and Jeremy buries his face in Michael’s shoulder to hide his flush. “Don’t move.”

Jeremy nods and digs his fingers into the fabric of Michael’s tee shirt for purchase. The position’s uncomfortable and he feels like he’s a display mannequin or something, but there’s something almost comforting about giving in and letting Christine just move him around. He wants to be what she wants to see, if only for a night, and in the end he trusts her to keep him steady. She never forces him on his knees. Neither of them do.

The bed creaks as Christine stands and Jeremy feels Michael’s groan where they’re pressed together. “Seriously Chris? I’m dying here.”

“Patience is a virtue, Michael,” Christine chimes and pats Jeremy’s cheek. “Hey, look at me.”

He slowly pulls his face off of Michael’s shoulder, and she smiles and presses her index and middle fingers to his lips. Jeremy opens his mouth and lets her push them inside so he can suck on them. She hums, thrusting her fingers in and out of his mouth nice and slow. He relaxes a little, enough to put on a show of licking them and batting his eyes. There’s drool leaking out of the corner of his mouth, but Christine doesn’t seem to mind, and well, if she doesn’t, neither does Jeremy.

She smiles, lets her fingers brush his lips as she pulls them out and walks back to sit with Michael. “See, that wasn’t that bad.”

“You’re biased,” Michael complains, jolting under Jeremy when Christine touches him again. Jeremy can feel her hair tickling his side as she leans in to get a better angle. Michael gets louder as she speeds up, panting and cursing in Jeremy’s ear. 

He can’t see what’s going on from this angle, but he doesn’t really have to. Christine likes to drag things out, but once she’s had her fun, she’s all business. Judging by the way Michael’s bucking his hips and moaning, she must be ready to wrap things up. 

Christine must do something particularly nice with her wrist because Michael’s legs jerk together, leaving Jeremy splayed out between the bed and his lap. He has to grab onto Michael’s other leg to stay steady, and he feels a vague pang of guilt as he realizes that he’s moved positions without her asking.

Christine keeps going, even as Michael gets twitchier. It takes all of Jeremy’s self control not to grind down and push against him, but he knows Christine wants to take him afterwards. He whimpers as Michael’s thigh presses against his crotch again, and Christine finally seems to notice his predicament.

“It’s okay if you come,” Christine says casually as she does something that makes Michael moan and bury his face in Jeremy’s shoulder. “I’ll just fuck you until you can again.”

Jeremy’s breath hitches in his throat at the thought of her pounding into him, over sensitive and raw. He’s not sure if it’s a threat or not- there’s something appealing about letting her break him apart and push him and push him and push him until he’s sore, having stretched himself beyond his limits or snapped apart trying.

The last time he gave in to that desire, it had ended with seven people in the hospital and Jeremy sobbing his eyes out in a paper gown.

She wouldn’t let him fall like that.

Jeremy shakes his head. He wants to hold out for her, make her proud.

She smiles and turns back to Michael, drawing more broken gasps and wrecked noises from him with every stroke. Jeremy feels it when he comes, feels the tension in his shoulders go slack and the way his breath is hot against his shoulder as Michael rides it out. Christine makes a pleased noise as Michael leans back onto the bed, propped up on his elbows, and Jeremy takes that as his cue to untangle himself.

She nods and moves in to kiss Michael in the afterglow, holding his hand as he comes down from the high. Jeremy feels a pang of envy, but quashes it. He’s so close that if he doesn’t slow down he’ll go off like a rocket the moment someone touches him.

Jeremy sits on the bed and rubs at the inside of his thighs. There are little red imprints where Michael’s jeans dug into his skin, and wow, that train of thought is not helping to take things down a notch. Jeremy lets out a long breath, shuts his eyes and tries to think of baseball, remembers he knows nothing about sports and switches to thinking about other boner killing stuff. His Oma, beanie babies, the smell of Mountain Dew- okay, yeah, there we go.

Jeremy lets out a long breath. Michael’s pulling off his stained jeans and trading them for sweatpants, and Christine’s digging in Michael’s mess of nightstand for something. Probably lube.

Michael hikes up his pants again and Jeremy sighs. Goodbye Michael’s ass. Your visage will be dearly missed. 

Michael glances over and smiles. “Sup man.”

“Hey dude.” Jeremy tries not to stare too hard as Michael strips out of his tee shirt. Jeremy watches how his arms flex when he throws it into the hamper hungrily. It’s probably a good thing that Michael wears his hoodie most of the time because otherwise Jeremy would spend most of his time running into lamp posts and walls. “How- how was it?”

“Good,” Michael says, sitting next to him on the bed. He runs a hand down Jeremy’s spine. The basement’s pretty cold and Jeremy feels a little clammy, but Michael’s touch warms him back up. He grins as Jeremy fists his fingers in the covers, trying not to focus on how Michael’s hand is slipping lower. “You were great.”

Jeremy smiles and rubs tries to rub away the goosebumps on his arm. “How many times did I kick you in the leg?”

“Dude, I was too distracted to keep track,” Michael says, leaning in. He presses a kiss to Jeremy’s jaw, making him shiver. “I’m sorry I nearly dropped you like, five times.”

“No, it’s cool-” Michael bites his earlobe, making Jeremy’s heart skip a beat. “It was good.”

Michael hums, sliding a hand up the inside of Jeremy’s thigh, tracing his fingers along the red indentation from where the edge of his belt pressed into the skin. “I dunno man, I could apologize a lot better.”

“Michael,” Christine says sharply. She doesn’t sound angry or upset, but there’s hardness under her light tone. Michael glances up, caught in the act. “Tonight I get to make him come, okay?”

Michael huffs and pulls away from Jeremy, which is frustrating to say the least. “Greedy.”

“You know it.” Christine grins and shakes the bottle of lube in her hands. “I never said you couldn’t help though.”

A terrible, wonderful smile breaks out on Michael’s face and Jeremy knows he’s going to die tonight. “Sweet.”

“I want his head in your lap. Can you go up to the head of the bed?”

Michael shakes his head. “It’s gonna be easier if you can stand. He likes it rough.”

Christine nods, conceding the point, and Michael scoots over to the edge of the bed that’s pressed against the wall. Jeremy follows quickly, laying his head in Michael’s and doing the best to scooch until his ass is almost hanging off the bed.

“Somebody’s eager,” Michael laughs, and Jeremy shrugs. It’s hot having them direct him around like he’s some sort of prop, but he still feels guilty for putting all the work on them. “Give him a pillow, okay?”

Christine grabs one and Jeremy lifts his hips so she can prop him up with it. It feels a little silly, but Christine makes it almost tender, smiling softly and petting his leg. She squirts some lube into her hand and passes the bottle to Michael, then bends down to run a finger from the base of his cock down his perineum, pressing lightly against his entrance. “Let me know if I’m going too fast, okay?”

Jeremy nods, shivering a little at the cold lube. “Do your worst.”

Christine grins like Jeremy’s just given her her acceptance to Julliard, and presses into him. The first finger feels tight going in and Jeremy spreads his legs more and tries to relax. Christine starts slow and light until he relaxes, then pushes deeper. Jeremy gasps as she brushes against his prostate and it takes everything in him to keep from rolling his hips and grinding down. 

Christine squirts on more lube and pushes in a second finger, laughing when Jeremy clenches tight around her and buries his face in Michael’s thigh so she can’t see his blush. “Jer!”

Michael runs his fingers through his hair, brushing it out of his face where the sweat’s made it cling to his forehead. “He does make the cutest faces, huh?”

Christine curls her fingers and Jeremy sees stars. “I mean, I’d like it if I could see them.”

“Very subtle.” Michael slips his hand under Jeremy’s cheek and gently pushes his head back up, making him look at her. “Better?”

She smiles at him and rewards him with another press of her fingers, scissoring them and stretching him open. “Gorgeous.”

Jeremy sucks in a sharp breath at the praise, unable to tear his eyes away her face but almost scared to look. Her eyes are soft and warm and when she says it like that, he can forget every other time he’s heard it.

Christine must see something in his expression she likes, because her grin widens and thrusts her fingers against his prostate again, making his cock jerk weakly against his belly. “Are you ready?”

Jeremy nods and tries not to look too disappointed when she pulls her fingers out. He never notices how empty it feels until it’s gone, leaving him twitchy and sensitive. Michael passes the lube over Jeremy’s head and Jeremy yelps as Christine fumbles and drops it on his stomach. “Sorry!”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Jeremy says and hands it back up to her. “Just startled me.”

She takes it and squirts some more of it on the strapon, stroking from the base to the tip until it’s spread over the entire length. Jeremy swallows. It’s still ridiculous and offensively purple, but something about how Christine’s eyes are narrowed in concentration and how every movement feels deliberate makes it kind of hot. 

She settles back between his legs, one hand on his hip and one holding the shaft of the dildo. Jeremy hisses as she presses the head to his entrance, rubbing it up and down his perineum. He waits for her to get on with it and fuck him, but she just keeps teasing him, pressing it against his rim then pulling away.

Christine catches his eyes and frowns. “Is there something you want?”

Jeremy nods, not trusting his voice.

“Hey, ask nicely,” Michael says, giving him a nudge. “How are we gonna know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

Part of Jeremy wants to point to his cock, hard and leaking against his stomach, but that’s not exactly polite. He swallows. “I’d- I’d like you to fuck me. Please.” 

Christine smirks. “You know Michael, I’ve heard that there’s a lot to be said for being specific.”

Oh god, he’s dating two  _ assholes. _

“You know, I think you’re right. What does fuck even mean?” 

Jeremy groans, throwing his head back so he can glare up at Michael’s stupid, smug face. They’re baiting him, trying to get him to talk because they know once he starts, he won’t be able to stop. The first time they had sex, Jeremy had barely said anything, but the next time Michael had figured out how to reduce him to a gasping, whining mess, and then Christine had wanted a turn and now it’s their favorite game to play.

Being on Michael’s thigh had been embarrassing enough of a loss for one night, but Christine’s slipped her hand from his hip to the hollow of his thigh and goddammit he’s already lost this round too.

“I want you to fuck me, please. I want you to take me and, and I need you to, please Christine, please, please, please-”

Jeremy moans obscenely as she pushes in in one long, slow thrust. It’s a lot like when Michael’s fucked him, but he’s never had the endurance to take him like this, slow and unhurried. The dildo’s smooth and a little softer than Michael’s cock, but the girth is sending him straight to hell. His nails scrabble across bed as she pull back, the ridge of its head tugging at his entrance, and Michael offers his hand.

Jeremy’s scared his nails are going to cut into Michael’s palm when Christine thrusts back in, making him cling to his hand like a life preserver. Michael doesn’t seem to mind, just gives Jeremy’s fingers a light squeeze, grounding him out.

“God, I can’t believe I let you have all the fun, Michael,” Christine says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “He’s fantastic.”

“I know,” Michael agrees, smoothing the hand Jeremy's not holding down his chest. “Look how good he takes it.”

Christine hums appreciatively and rolls her hips, sinking into him until their hips are flush then nearly pulling out, over and over again. She’s so close to his prostate it hurts, and Jeremy’s not sure if that or their words are why his throat feels so choked up. “Fucked senseless is such a good look for him.”

“If you really wanna see him go nuts, lift him up a little,” Michael says casually, and Jeremy shivers as Christine grabs his hips and adjusts him, not even bothering to pull out. “Yeah, see, little higher.”

Jeremy jolts as she hits it. He can feel his nerves light up like a Christmas tree, and Michael’s smiling so softly and Christine’s rubbing against his prostate and he can’t help the sob that tears from his throat.

Christine pauses, stilling inside him. “Are you okay? Jeremy?”

“Please, keep going, I need you to-”

She nods, pressing her hand on his stomach, and pushes back into him. Jeremy bucks his hips, fucking back onto the dildo, but it’s not enough. He keens, hooking his ankles together behind her.

“You can go a little quicker,” Michael says. “He’s not made of glass.”

Jeremy nods frantically. He needs more, and Christine smiles, ready to give it to him. She nearly pulls out then slams back in, hard enough that Jeremy yelps, tears spilling over his lashes. The pace she sets is almost brutal, the dildo sliding across his prostate with every roll of her hips.

“God, he really is just perfect.”

Jeremy whimpers at the praise, feeling cracked open. He knows he’s a mess- he can feel the sweat in his hair, the way his cock’s leaking against his stomach, the tears rolling down his face, hot and sticky- but Christine looks so warm, smiling at him as she pants, he can’t bring himself to care. All he do is stay down and take it.

“I know. We’re so fucking lucky.” Jeremy can’t see through the tears but he can still hear the smile in Michael’s voice. He sounds so sincere that it’s overwhelming.

“Please.” He needs Michael to do something, anything to give the ache coiling in his gut direction. It's like an itch he can't scratch, the heavy pressure and pleasure driving him nuts but never quite peaking. “Please, just- I want, I need-”

Michael wraps his hand around Jeremy’s cock and he can't help but buck into his fist, desperate for release. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Jeremy nods, reduced to barely articulate moans and slurred begging. Michael strokes him in time with Christine’s thrusts, leaving Jeremy breathless as he tries to buck into his hand and grind down on the dildo all at once.

“I’ve got you,” Michael repeats, softer, as he cups Jeremy’s cheek. “You’re doing so well.”

Christine thrusts into him just right and Jeremy’s eyes flutter shut, feeling precome dribble onto his stomach. He’s close- he can feel it in the tension running through him like a live wire, the bright, searing pleasure in his belly, the way he feels stripped, like his entire body’s one raw nerve. “I’m, I’m gonna-”

“Yeah,” Michael says, almost reverent. “Come for me, okay?”

And Jeremy knows he's being too loud, unable to bite back how he sobs their names, but Michael's rubbing his thumb across the head of Jeremy's cock, and Christine's pounding into him at the perfect angle, sliding across his prostate with each thrust. Michael smoothes his fingers over Jeremy’s slit and he’s gone. 

“Good boy.” Michael pulls his hand away, dripping with come, and Jeremy feels so wrung out, so high on afterglow and being around his two favourite people, he can't help but nod weakly, blinking away tears. “He is, isn't he?”

“Absolutely.” Christine pulls out slowly and Jeremy shifts uncomfortably. He feels empty and wrung out, and he’s definitely going to be sore in the morning, but he doesn’t really mind the idea. Maybe he’ll limp, and everyone will look at him and  _ know. _

Christine pulls the harness off quickly, the bed bowing under her as she throws herself onto it. Out of the corner of his eye, Jeremy sees her reach down, grinding hard against her fingers.

He makes to sit up, feeling guilty she’s left to take care of herself on her own, but Christine just puts up a hand. “I’ve-” She twists her wrist and moans- “I’ve got this!”

Jeremy nods and slumps against the bed. Christine gets like this sometimes during sex, sensory and emotional overload leaving her sensitive and high strung. Usually she prefers to deal with it alone. Most of the time it’s a little disappointing, if understandable, but tonight it’s a little bit of a relief to just collapse into Michael’s arms and soak up the afterglow. 

It’s weirdly peaceful, lying back and listening to Christine’s breathy noises as the pleasure fades. He always feels a little sleepy afterwards, too boneless and loose to want to move, and Michael appreciates that, lets him curl up in his lap and cling.

Christine comes with groan and collapses on the bed next to them, wiping her hand on her dress. Jeremy’s not sure how they’re going to clean it in time for her to sneak out the next morning, but they’ll figure something out. Maybe they’ll wash it in the sink and let it dry on the radiator overnight, or it’ll be sacrificed to the ever growing pile of her clothing stuffed in Michael’s closet. 

His eyes flutter shut for a moment, but Michael shifts under him and prods his side, making him squirm. “Dude, clean up. I have to sleep here.”

Jeremy groans but complies, sitting up and throwing his legs over the side of the bed. Now that he’s not painfully turned on, he feels kind of gross and clammy. Michael throws him a pack of wet wipes and Jeremy catches them, grateful.

A year ago, he wouldn’t have thought that post coital clean up could ever be called routine, but here they are, going through the usual motions. Jeremy limps to the bathroom to clean and cover back up, and Michael stuffs the dirty sheets in the hamper and pokes Christine until she gets off the bed. She groans but eventually wriggles out of her dress, fumbling in the bottom drawer of Michael’s bureau for her spare clothes.

“How’d I do?” She says, pulling on her panties. She’s smiling, but there's something tight, almost nervous in it. “I mean, the whole thigh thing looked kind of uncomfortable.”

“It was good!” Jeremy chucks the wet wipes in the waste bin and pads over to her. He’s still going to need a shower in the morning, but he feels a lot cleaner like this. It’s comforting to sink back into himself and his old, mostly clean clothes. “I like when you’re-” He pauses looking for a good, safe word for it. “Assertive. I uh, really like it.”

“We’ve noticed.” Michael laughs at Jeremy’s flush, hopping out of the way as Jeremy kicks at his shins. “You’re like some kind of sex maestro. A confucktor.”

Christine snorts, and lets Michael drag her back to bed. “You always know just what to say. Such a way with words.”

“Christ, you two.” Jeremy smiles at them as they settle in bed, Michael slinging an arm around her shoulders and their legs tangling together. They’re beautiful. He flicks out the lights, leaving the basement in a sort of comfortable semi darkness, lit by Michael’s Pacman nightlight and the moon light slanting through the high windows.

Christine wraps an arm around his waist as he shuffles on the mattress. It’s cramped as hell, but he’ll deal with it. 

“Fucking you is good for my improv skills! Besides, you seemed to like what I was saying,” Christine says and Jeremy can just imagine how smug she must look. “You always look so pretty when we compliment you.”

Jeremy groans and pushes his faces into a pillow. “You guys laid it on so thick.”

“Yeah, but your face is so great when we do,” Michael says, stretching so his arm sprawls across both of them. “You look kind of surprised and a little desperate-” Jeremy kicks him, making him yelp and Christine snicker. “But seriously. It’s nothing that isn’t true.”

Jeremy feels heat prickle his skin- fantastic, perfect- and swallows, trying to accept it. Michael sighs and takes his hand, intertwining their fingers. “You kinda looked like you needed it, dude.” 

“I did,” Jeremy admits. “Thank you.”

Christine hums. “The pleasure was all ours.” 

Jeremy feels his eyelids droop for what feels like a second, but when he opens them, Christine and Michael are already asleep, breath slow and soft. Jeremy glances around the soft shadows of Michael’s room, wary of the taste of ozone in the back of his throat.

It’s sitting on the desk across from the bed, glowering down at them with unblinking eyes. Jeremy stares back, holding onto Michael’s hand like a vice. Its black suit is like someone spilt ink on his corneas, pure void over the semi darkness of Michael’s room.

It’s always going to be there. Jeremy can tear out every subroutine and drink enough Mountain Dew Red that he vomits, but it’ll always be there, like a shadow left behind in the wake of a nuclear bomb.

For once the inevitability doesn’t scare him. He shifts his free hand out from under the covers, flips it off and rolls over to press his face into Christine’s neck. He doesn’t wait to see how it reacts. It’s a gesture, and that’s all that matters.

It’ll come back, but they’ll be ready to face it when it does.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this screaming hell pile! Your feedback means a lot, so consider leaving a comment or kudos! I had a great time writing twenty thousand words of Jeremy flipping off the SQUIP.


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